Safe Haven
by LilMissNerdfighter
Summary: Hermione offers a place to stay for people in need. What will she do when Draco Malfoy's the one who needs help? Slightly AU. Rated T for language.
1. Chapter 1: A familiar stranger

**Hi! This idea's been floating around in my head for a little while, so I hope you enjoy it.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hermione or Harry or Ron or Draco etc. They are ALL J.K. Rowling's. I suppose Mr Jones is mine, but he's fairly annoying.  
**

* * *

BANG! BANG! BANG! Yet again, Hermione was woken by the landlord, Mr Jones. Almost every night this week, he had hammered on her door at unreasonable times, demanding that she allow another half dead witch or wizard into her flat. She had known that it would be like this, when she told the Order that she would take the job, but it didn't mean she appreciated certain aspects of it.

If Hermione was being honest with herself- as she tried to be- she really didn't like being woken up in the small hours of the morning, by Mr Jones with another witch or wizard seeking refuge from the constant rain and the war. However, it was necessary and it wasn't like she had anything else to do other than look after those who needed help- in an annoying twist of fate, both Ron and Harry had decided it would be best for her to stay at home, whilst they went to look for horcruxes. She had tried to understand their reasoning for this, but every time she remembered their departure -and how confident they were that she couldn't manage life on the run- a wave of annoyance passed through her. It felt like she had only just stopped wanting to blast everything in sight to shreds.

Merlin, it hurt. She couldn't believe Ron would leave her so easily, just days after they had finally started a fragile relationship. He had insisted that he loved her- and she didn't doubt that- but she missed him. She was sure that Harry and Ron would cope perfectly well with the hunt without her. However, despite reassuring herself constantly throughout the day, little things worried her. Nothing big, just small things. Like whether they had remembered to put up all the necessary concealing charms, and if they had packed enough warm clothes. It was silly really, she often told herself; even if Ron had issues with those sorts of things, Harry would look make sure that everything was just fine. He always did.

That was why she had opened the flat to refugees- because she couldn't stand the idea, that whilst Harry and Ron were out saving the world; she was sitting around twiddling her thumbs. Instead she spent all day counselling ex- Death Eaters or muggle-borns, who had spent months running from Voldemort. She had repeatedly refused any help the Order had offered, mainly because she was trying to prove to some unknown entity, that she could in fact manage by herself. At times like this, she wished that she wasn't so stubborn and that somebody else would go and open the bloody door before Mr Jones knocked it down.

'All right, I'm here, I'm here!' Hermione muttered, pulling her tatty dressing down tight around her waist and rubbing the remaining sleep from her eyes. Undoubtedly, she would spend the remaining couple of hours before dawn feeding and talking to whomever had escaped from the clutches of the Snatchers, who had been particularly vicious recently. Although she liked helping people, often their stories left her feeling angry at the world- these people just wanted a peaceful life and Voldemort was ruining magic for everybody!

It hadn't escaped her attention that it was more than a little bit dangerous to allow random strangers to stay in her flat. Hermione had spent countless nights making lists of pros and cons, and had concluded that in the end, it was the right thing to do. The Order paid for the flat, and anything that she might need to keep the others- and herself- alive. Molly hadn't been happy- in fact she had tried to stop Hermione leaving, even when all the arrangements had been made. Everybody seemed to be under the impression that Hermione should just stay at the Burrow until the war ended. But she couldn't. Not while people were suffering and she could do something to help. She wasn't looking forward to Ron and Harry finding out what she was doing, but she was counting on the hunt keeping them busy for at least the next couple of months.

Yesterday, the Order had relocated all the other refugees, because despite the enlarging charm placed on the apartment (which all the muggleborns commented made the place seem like the TARDIS) was getting quite crowded. The others hadn't complained once about the lack of space, and Hermione thought that the atmosphere was like that of the Burrow. Even though it was cramped, everybody was doing their best to remain cheerful. Besides, nobody like being alone at times like this. It just made everything seem a million times worse.

There was another loud knock on the door, shaking the walls. Mr Jones was not a man who liked to be kept waiting. Hermione took a deep breath and opened the door, preparing herself for whatever horror her next flat-mate might have experienced. The moment that the door gave way, a wizard collapsed into her hallway. Mr Jones raised an eyebrow at Hermione as she rushed to help the man to his feet and half carried him to the nearest sofa.

'Listen here, Granger,' Mr Jones began scowling at Hermione as she positioned the body, so that when he woke up he wouldn't be too uncomfortable. 'I normally wouldn't care if you were kidnapping people and storing them here until a ransom was paid. However, the screaming is disturbing the other tenants- I can't have complaints, y'know. If you don't get them to shut the hell up, I'm going to call the police.'

With a final grimace, he marched out of her flat, leaving her alone with the unconscious man in her unlit flat. Hermione sighed; she really despised Mr Jones sometimes. She wasn't sure why he was so difficult. And why, if he was sure she was kidnapping people, he didn't just call the police. It would be the right thing to do. She shook her head to clear all thoughts of the unpleasant landlord and knelt beside the sofa. Quickly realising that she wasn't going to be able to assess the severity of the wizard's condition in the dark, she lit the nearest lamps. It was force of habit that often meant she spent most evenings in the dark. It meant that those sleeping in the living room wouldn't be disturbed by the entrance of a new refugee. Still, she didn't have to now, and since the man was out cold, she doubted he'd be woken by a little light.

Now that Hermione could properly see, she began to try and work out how much damage had been done. Looking at the man's limp form, she felt physically sick. His leg was bent at a strange angle and all the bones in his left arm seemed to be completely gone. His clothes were splattered with mud and blood- of which he had seemed to have lost a lot, judging from how pale his skin was. She cast a quick diagnostic spell which revealed several broken ribs and fingers, and that his right leg was broken in several places. He wasn't the worst case she had seen, but she was still definitely worried about him.

Taking a couple of deep breaths, Hermione ran through the plan of action she had been taught. She had diagnosed his condition, which was number one on the list. Now, she had to try and clean the man up, get him something to ear and make sure that he wasn't concussed, among other things. However, this meant waking him up, and she wasn't sure how well he would react to being in a strange woman's home. Sometimes, people turned up with no recollection of how they got there and were very reluctant to trust anything anyone said. Those cases were always the hardest to treat, because they often didn't want any help and would try and leave before they were ready- hurting themselves more in the process.

Hermione knew that in reality, there was no need to try and figure out who this man was, and where he had come from. But curiosity got the better of her, as it often did. For some odd reason, she had left the wizard's left forearm alone, mainly because even though it was boneless, it would cause some pain if she accidently touched the Dark Mark. Instinct told her, that this man was almost definitely a (former) Death Eater. And this time, her instinct was right. Even though the forearm was completely limp, the mark was still there.

This was the first time a Death Eater had actually found her flat, and consequently she was a bit wary of him. Hermione had been told to expect them to turn up from time to time, but as the months had passed she had stopped wondering when one would actually appear. She had prepared herself to feel a lot more hatred towards the man on the sofa, but in reality anyone who was so damaged really didn't deserve to be hated.

Actually, it made it easier to identify him, Hermione realised. There couldn't be that many Death Eaters that were as young as him. In fact, she didn't think she had ever seen a Death Eater of even a remotely similar age to herself. Hermione wondered if he was an exception, or if they were recruiting teenagers in general now.

Realising that she had been staring at the boy's sleeping form; Hermione summoned a bowl of warm water and a cloth. Just because he was an ex-Death Eater didn't mean he deserved any different treatment- if she treated him any different, she would be a hypocrite. And Hermione couldn't stand hypocrisy. She gently wiped away the dirt which splattered his face, applying essence of Dittany to any cuts she found under the mud. She ran through a list of all the Death Eaters that she had ever heard of and encountered as she worked.

_Snape, Crabbe, Goyle, Wormtail, Bellatrix._

As she tried to remove as much blood and filth from his hair as possible, it occurred to her that this man actually wasn't a brunette. His hair was really very blonde and the mud had just been concealing its true colour. Continuing with her mental list, she switched to listing blonde Death Eater who were around her age. There was only one name repeating over and over.

_Draco Malfoy._


	2. Chapter 2: Accepting your fate

**A/N: I'm not sure if writing from two perspectives works- HPOV is Hermione's and DPOV is Draco's. Tell me what you think, 'cause I'm on the fence about this one... Also, I don't have a beta, so a) if I've made any mistakes, let me know and I'll correct them ASAP and b) if you want to beta this fanfic, send me a message. I think that's about it. I hope you like it!  
**

**Disclaimer: I do not and will not ever own Harry Potter. If I did, I would amuse myself by writing actual books, rather than FANfiction.**

* * *

HPOV

Her realisation still pounding in her head, Hermione slowly backed away from Malfoy, who had begun to regain consciousness. His eyelids flickered, and Hermione held her breath, hoping that he would just slip back to sleep. Somebody seemed to be listening to her begging, as Malfoy sighed once and his breathing became fairly even and steady.

Hermione relaxed and was filled with a sudden urge to bang her head repeatedly on the coffee table. How had she not noticed that the Death Eater refugee was her childhood enemy? Was she becoming more and more unobservant as she grew older? A small voice in the back of head- who sounded suspiciously like Ron- was telling her to throw Malfoy out of the flat immediately. Hermione could see the logic behind the voice's reasoning, and the idea was becoming more and more tempting the longer she considered it. When Malfoy woke up, surely he would make her life living hell- and why should she have to deal with that? She had helped people for over a year now, and she hadn't asked for anything in return. Surely the Order would understand if she kicked Malfoy out before he caused any unnecessary stress. It was Malfoy after all, and he wasn't known for being the most likeable person on the planet, was he?

Hermione turned back to face Malfoy, and a wave of sympathy filled her. He looked so helpless- he didn't even look like he believed he was safe in his sleep! No, Hermione couldn't leave him to die on the streets. It wasn't the right thing to do, and… she didn't know if she could deal with knowingly abandoning somebody in their time of need, whether it was Malfoy or not.

Before she could change her mind, Hermione pulled out her wand and summoned some clothes that looked as though they might fit Malfoy. She would later swear that she didn't intentionally choose the most hideous clothes she could find, it was entirely coincidental. Leaving them in a pile on the table, she boiled the kettle and made herself a cup of tea. It was the way her mum had taught her to cope with difficult situations. Realizing that Malfoy would probably want something to drink too when he woke up, she made him a cup too. Just because it would be cold by the time he actually drank it didn't matter. It was the thought that counted. Besides, they had learnt warming charms at Hogwarts; it wasn't her fault if he didn't know how to do them. Hermione wasn't sure who she was trying to convince with her internal monologue.

Next, Hermione had to try and heal Malfoy as best as she could- without waking him. She cast a quick scourgify to get rid of most of the dirt and set about mending his bones as quickly as possible. She would make sure that they were properly fixed when he woke up, but whilst he was still fast asleep, there wasn't an awful lot she could do. Hermione also couldn't do anything about Malfoy's left arm. It was in an almost identical state to that of Harry's in second year, and she couldn't give him Skelle-Gro whilst he slept. It also occurred to her that as she couldn't give him a pain potion, so she was going to have deal with a sarcastic, probably angry and in pain Malfoy, who would try and get under her skin.

He wasn't going to, she resolved. She, Hermione Jean Granger, would be the better person. She would take the metaphorical high road. She would be everything she had told herself she would be when she grew up- she would be mature, responsible and calm. Somebody her parents would've been proud to call their daughter. Her parents… They were somewhere in Australia, living normal lives, without a witch for a daughter. It was for the best, Hermione told herself, but why did what was best have to hurt so bloody badly?

Not wanting Malfoy to see her weak on the off chance he might wake up, Hermione retreated to the kitchen, and made herself another cup of tea.

DPOV

He was standing on-top of a cliff, the wind whistling around him, tugging at his robes. Looking down, he could see nothing but the all-encompassing grey fog. Realising he was standing right on the edge, he began to back away from the oblivion before him. The grass was soaked beneath his feet and then he felt something pushing him forward. A piercing scream. And he was falling. Falling down and down. Forever.

Draco woke in cold sweat, aching all over. Every time he took a breath or tried to move anything more than an eyelid, it felt like he was being burnt. The pain was so overwhelming, it took him almost five minutes to be able to sort through his thoughts and realise he was in a strange flat.

Shit, this was definitely not on my to-do list, Draco thought, trying to futilely remember how the hell he got from the Manor, to the ridiculously red sofa. Maybe he was kidnapped, by adoring fans? No, they had been strangely lacking recently. Taken by snatchers, because they thought he was a… mudblood? No, certainly not. Even if they were the most ignorant and stupidly thick snatchers on the planet, he was obviously a Malfoy. The Dark Mark on his arm would have ruled out that possibility too- the Dark Lord despised muggleborns. He was quite clearly a Death Eater and the heir to one of the purest wizarding bloodlines left in existence.

The only explanation left was the worst one. It would mean that he could never go home again. It meant that he was going to have to accept his fate and it would actually be worse to escape here than die in this oddly warm room. At least I'm not going to freeze to death, sighed Draco; I wonder what they're going to do to me.

A thousand ways to be murdered flashed through his mind- many of which he had seen carried out before his helpless sight. Maybe it was better this way, at least he wasn't going to die at the hands of the Dark Lord. Maybe his captors would allow him to choose his method of death. He snorted, wincing at the sudden stabbing pain in his side, like anyone would let him do that.

No, he would just wait for death like a true Malfoy. He would not show any emotion, he would not beg or scream or cry. He would pretend like there wasn't a good chance that his parents had disowned him when they learnt the truth. He would remain proud and strong, even in death. If there was one thing that his parents- and the Dark Lord- had taught Draco, it was how to die.

Suddenly, there was the sound of breaking glass and a tired, female voice moaning.

'I bet that woke him, it would be just my luck,' the voice groaned. The floor boards creaked as the woman grew closer to where he lay. He couldn't see her approaching, but if anything that made him feel calmer. She sounded exhausted and he would bet that all she wanted was for him to die so she could go back to sleep. If he couldn't see death approaching, he could pretend that he wasn't moments away from hell. If his captor was tired, she would make his death quick, Draco hoped. He knew he didn't deserve it- after all, he was a Death Eater- but maybe his final secret was enough to grant him one last wish.

'Malfoy, are you awake?' she asked, and Draco cringed. The voice was familiar and sounded oddly… kind? As the footsteps became louder, Draco tried to place the voice. Young- probably around his age. Kind, so not a Slytherin or somebody with knowledge of what he had done. Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs would have taken him straight to the Order headquarters, so that left one possibility. He was in the hands of a bloody Gryffindor. At least that explained the red!

Unfortunately, when he thought about female Gryffindors, there was only one name that immediately sprung to mind. But she was running round the country with Potter and the Weasel, surely. Draco had heard a rumour that she was hiding, running some sort of sanctuary for the hunted- but that was just a rumour, wasn't it? Please, please, please say it's just a rumour, Draco begged. Let me be with any other Gryffindor other than her. That would be a fate worse than death. His life in the hands of the one person that he had tormented beyond belief. It couldn't be her, why she would allow him to crash on her sofa? Though, it did match what little he knew of the know-it-all's personality- that she would put aside their differences and give him a little longer to live. Or it could be some cruel payback. Let him be kept barely alive, and then kill him.

Either way, as she came into his line of vision, there was no room for Draco to deny the truth any longer.

He had been taken in my Hermione Granger.


	3. Chapter 3: Not getting what you want

**A/N: Sorry I took so long to update, I had exams and then tumblr intervened. I'm on my half term holiday now, so I might actually update on time- I'm making no promises though. If anyone wants to play spot the Sherlock reference, you're always welcome. Also, this chapter contains several instances of swearing, just so you're warned. Have a nice day!**

**Disclaimer: I do not and will ever own Draco or Hermione- if I did, Dramione would probably be canon. **

* * *

HPOV

This time, Hermione had managed to drink her tea and was sitting in the kitchen contemplating what to do with the Slytherin on her sofa. Half an hour had passed, and she knew that sooner rather than later Malfoy would wake up. As if to speed up the process, an owl swooped in through the open window, knocking the empty cup to the floor, where it shattered into three pieces.

'I bet that woke him, it would be just my luck,' grumbled Hermione, repairing the mug with a quick flick of her wand. She had counted on getting at least another ten minutes peace, before she was subjected to Malfoy's insufferable presence.

I'll give him a minute to wonder what the hell is going on, before I go and check on him, she decided, feeding the owl a treat. Maybe he'll be pleasant and happy that he's not lying dead on a random street corner. Hermione chuckled quietly to herself- and maybe one day Voldemort will wear become a Hufflepuff and start campaigning to give House Elves more rights.

Hermione had never managed to perfect the art of walking silently, and it was at times like this when she wished had. She was all too aware that Malfoy could hear every step she took, and she could hear his breathing accelerate. Hermione wondered if Malfoy was aware that he was muttering something under his breath, over and over again. She wasn't sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing that she was too far away from him, and he was whispering too quietly, making sure that she couldn't hear what he was saying. Although it could've been something important, she guessed that he was probably insulting her. Malfoy wasn't completely thick- he must have worked out where he was. Mustn't he?

'Malfoy, are you awake?' Hermione asked, and was surprised to see Malfoy relax. Apparently he hadn't worked out that she wasn't going to kill him in his sleep. Probably a sign of concussion, or maybe he remembered when she punched him in third year. Years later, the thought of hitting him- up until his arrival at her flat- had seemed brilliant. Yet now, with the opportunity, it seemed wrong. He couldn't defend himself, and actually, she felt a little sorry for him! Hermione paused, that couldn't be right- surely she was incapable of feeling anything but anger towards Malfoy. I guess it's just one of those days, sighed Hermione, closing the gap between herself and the sofa.

Malfoy's expression came into view and unsurprisingly a scowl was etched firmly onto his face. For a moment Hermione forgot why he was in her flat and was filled with an overwhelming urge to slap him, again. But, unfortunately, her senses returned to her before she could do anything that would… potentially harm Malfoy further. Really, she should give him a chance, he hadn't said anything mean and/or offensive in the five seconds he had been awake- that could be classed as an improvement.

His eyes were a cold grey and were furiously scanning the room- probably looking for an exit. Hermione guessed that he hadn't tried moving yet, if he had then either his injuries weren't quite as extensive as she had previously thought or he was a masochist.

'Granger, what the hell am I doing here?' Malfoy sneered, making no attempt to sit up. 'I always knew you were more than a little obsessed with me, but this is a new level of crazy.' Hermione groaned, at this rate he was going to be here for the rest of the war, he was never going to accept help from her in this… state. Despite the Order telling her exactly how to act under the circumstance that a hostile 'refugee' came to her flat, for once in her life Hermione ignored the rules. She had been told to remain calm and in no case retaliate. However, she figured that Malfoy was probably the exception that proved the rule.

'Shut the fuck up, Malfoy! _You_ came here unconscious, _you _have been sleeping on _my _sofa for the past hour and _you _apparently need help, so I wouldn't go round insulting the one person who can bloody help you, if I were you!' hissed Hermione, her hand instinctively searching for her wand. It didn't matter that her opponent was currently defenceless; she still liked to be prepared for the worst. Despite their history, Hermione had expected Malfoy to be a willing patient, anyone who came to her in that sort of state should, in theory, take all the help they could get. Why is it that in practice, theories never worked?

'I didn't ask you to take me in- you could have left me wherever the hell I was and I would've been _fine_. I had it under control. I do not and will not ever need your help. Couldn't you just keep your fucking nose out of other people's business for once? Or is that too difficult for the know-it-all Gryffindor princess to comprehend that maybe, she doesn't need to know everything. You know what, even though somebody has decided to appoint the Golden Trio as the fucking owners of the world, you don't know everything. You know nothing. Speaking of which, where are your boyfriends? Have they finally realised that you're cheating on them, with each other?' Malfoy taunted, forcing himself to his feet. Hermione had to hand it to him, even years later, he knew how to get under her skin. She was sure she could've dealt with the taunts about her know-it-all status, but any mentions of her best friends always riled her up. You know what, screw the high road, she thought. In one swift motion, she pulled her wand from her pocket and pressed it against his throat.

'Don't you ever talk about Harry and Ron like that,' growled Hermione. 'They are ten times better people, than you will ever be. Now either sit down and shut up, or get the hell out of my flat. Now.'

To her total astonishment, Malfoy slowly sat down on the sofa. For some bizarre reason, this action actually irritated her further- why couldn't he just be predictable? She knew how to defeat people who were predictable- but she supposed that was why she hated him so much. One moment he was insulting her and her friends, and the next he was following her instructions. It messed with her head, and from the smirk slowly spreading across his bruised face, she could tell he knew it too.

DPOV

Draco slid down onto the sofa, relishing the look of confusion spread across Granger's face. She really was very easy to annoy. All it took was a few remarks about her relationship with Potter and the Weasel and she was furious. He had forgotten how much he had loved it. Back in school (which he considered to be a very long time ago, when in reality it had only been a couple of years), he had kept score of how many times a week she fought with him. He wondered if he could resume that game- or if it would endanger the cause.

He actually didn't care if she killed him, he was going to die anyway and if she killed him then at least she would be haunted for the rest of her life. She was that sort of person. Blood Gryffindors. He had been aiming for Granger to hex him, just so he could make her feel guilty for a few hours. Unfortunately she seemed to have a reasonable hold on her anger, which made everything a hell of a lot harder. In an ideal world, she would've killed him already- or he would have died before she had found him. It would've meant he didn't have to carry out the ridiculous task set before him. He was ashamed to realise that he had no recollection of how he got to her very red apartment. Draco supposed that he had walked; there was no way in hell that he would've let her help him up the stairs. He supposed that it didn't matter in the long run, but it was quite concerning that a chunk of his memory was missing. Unless she had obliviated him- which would explain why he had been unconscious. Yes, that was definitely it. Bloody Gryffindor.

It was a shame that he wasn't allowed to fight with her properly. Which meant that any arguments would have to be weighted heavily in her favour, it really was unfair. Then again, they would never forgive him and then he would be in trouble. Death would be welcome if they discovered that he had hurt the Gryffindor princess.

However, he could still irritate her. No-one could say that he did anything wrong if he was _provoked, _right? The 'overlords', as Draco liked to call them, were mostly fair. More than a little biased towards those who worked solely for them, but overall fair. He had to just stay on their good sides, so no unprovoked attacks on Granger. It didn't mean that he couldn't have a little fun though, did it? Draco smirked, unflinchingly meeting Granger's gaze. Oh, he was going to have ever such a lot of fun.

HPOV

Right, and now he was actually making eye contact. Whilst smirking. Was she really that bad at instilling respect into people? She had hoped that he might have had some sort of different reaction- a positive one. Hopefully leaving, or at the very least apologising. She should've known, Malfoy never apologises, ever. He always has a comeback- even if it's nonverbal. He would probably outlive God trying to have the last word. And now, he was just waiting for her to say something, and being so damn arrogant that she wanted to hex him, just to get a response. Hermione was sure that she would rather he insulted her seven hundred more times, rather than just sitting there, smirking.

She knew that he wanted a response, something that would prove that he could still antagonise her. Hermione was fairly sure that she already had granted him his wish once, and had no intention of providing him with any more entertainment. So, she fixed a very fake smile on her face and did what came naturally to her:

'Would you like some tea?'


	4. Chapter 4: Tea solves everything

**A/N I decided to update two days in a row! Yay! Its Draco's birthday today, so happy birthday Draco Malfoy! Thank you to everyone who favourited/followed this story and an especially big thanks to CRAZYbutLOVABLE and dreams are beautiful for reviewing, you guys are awesome! Okay, I'm gonna go now. Have a nice day!**

**Disclaimer: I still do not own Draco or Hermione. Sad, but true.**

* * *

HPOV

Tea? What the hell was she doing offering Malfoy tea? She blamed her mum, Hermione had been taught to be polite and courteous even in the most awkward of situations- although, she hadn't realised this rule applied to Malfoy. Her mum was going to have a lot to answer for when this was all over… if she still remembered her. No, she wasn't going to think about that. What were you supposed to do; when you had just offered someone you despised tea? Smile. Good, I can do that, she thought as she tried to fix a welcoming smile on her face. Great, now he just looks freaked out- never mind, moving on. Next thing, get the tea and… biscuits.

Hermione was aware that she must've looked like she was slowly becoming hysterical, but no-one had prepared her for this. The Order had told her how to help people, and sort out most of their problems, but not how to make polite conversation. She returned to her seat, opposite Malfoy and took a deep breath, her face starting to ache because of the smile.

As long as she could bring the topic of conversation round to how Malfoy ended up hurt, and if he wanted to stay- she winced- with her, then she would be fine. The Order had told her how to cope after that point. Hermione hoped that Malfoy would turn down the offer, let her heal him and then leave. It seemed likely, taking their history into account. Hopefully,he would use any excuse possible to escape as soon as he could. But this was Malfoy, and even in the twenty minutes he had been awake, he had already surprised her.

Now it was her turn to mess with his head. If being nice was all it took to freak Malfoy out, then she was going to do it properly. Besides, if he became tolerable in response, then that would be an advantage. Hermione wondered how long it would take for him to work out that she was deliberately trying to scare him, or if he would at all. Let the games begin, she thought as she heaped sugar into her cup, good luck, Malfoy.

DPOV

It had taken a lot less effort then he had imagined. Granger had apparently lost her sanity after only one smirk and one unpredictable move. Draco had expected more. He had hoped that she would've put up a little bit more of a struggle. However, she was now offering him tea and attempting to make small talk. It was official; Hermione Granger had gone completely nuts.

'Would you like a biscuit?' she smiled manically, pushing a tin of shortbread biscuits towards him. There was definitely something wrong with her. Just five minutes ago she had been hopping mad, and now she was acting as if they were old friends catching up on gossip. It was actually fairly unnerving. Maybe there was something in the sugar?

Draco inspected his china tea-cup carefully. It didn't seem to be poisoned; perhaps Granger had put some sort of potion in the milk. He had been taught to distinguish between two hundred and forty three different types of poison, none of which were immediately identifiable in the drink. Besides, Granger was drinking the same tea, he had watched her pour it from a tea-pot. Draco had never actually seen anyone use a tea-pot before, other than his mother on special occasions. The house elves normally just bought in self-filling cups. Is this how muggles drank tea? Draco decided that he would have to research it.

Maybe she had cast a very powerful cheering charm. That would explain why she looked as though someone had told her that Flourish and Blotts was going to give her all the books she wanted for free. Cautiously, he sipped the lukewarm tea. No, not poisoned. Maybe she was in shock? Maybe she should lie down? Draco mentally slapped himself, why did it matter? He was just here because the Overlords' protection hadn't kicked in quick enough. Or because it had, he couldn't remember. All he had to do was get healed and then carry on, but with Granger in her near hysterical state, it was becoming more and more unlikely that that was going to happen any time soon. Why was she still grinning like a clown?

'So, how are you? What have you been up to lately?' asked Granger, refilling her cup and moving to add yet more sugar to the already too sweet tea. She was making no indication that she had any intention of leaving him alone. Granger genuinely seemed to be trying to make polite conversation with him. Had the smirk been a step to far? It had been known to make girls faint before- he wasn't the Slytherin prince for nothing! This was Granger though, and she seemed to be actually waiting for a response to her questions. Brilliant, having tea with a maniacal Gryffindor was not really on his to-do list. Then again, neither was getting into a fight. Funny how things turn out.

HPOV

Malfoy was just sitting there, not talking, looking as if somebody had announced that he had five minutes to live. Hermione considered poking him to see if he would fall over, but after seriously thinking about it, decided that it would make him even more unbearable.

'Malfoy? Are you okay?' Hermione tried again, and this time Malfoy seemed to actually be alive.

'No, of course I'm not all right, Granger. I was just attacked, I'm fairly sure that my leg is broken and you're grinning like a lunatic,' he snapped, setting his cup back down onto the table. 'How are you?' Hermione grimaced, she supposed that it had been a bit of a ridiculous question. She cast a few spells and mended all the broke n bones that were left. Malfoy winced slightly, and then continued to glare at her, as if it was her fault that he had been in a fight.

'I'm just dandy, Malfoy. A known Death Eater has just turned up on my doorstep, and can't seem to make his mind up as to whether or not he wants my help. He also seems to be oblivious to the fact that there is a sleeping draught in his tea, and that I am doing my best considering the current situation,' she retorted, grinning as Malfoy began retching and clawing at his tongue. She hadn't actually put anything in his tea, but she wanted to see if he believed her. Apparently, he did.

Minutes passed and Malfoy stared at her, horrified as he waited for the potion to kick in. After about seven, Hermione let out a small giggle, which had been building from the first shocked look. Malfoy scowled as she began laughing, joining him on the floor, where he had collapsed.

'What's so funny, Granger?' Draco barked, propping himself up against the sofa 'You just drugged me!'

'Why would I waste a sleeping draught on you- you don't need it!' Hermione choked out between her giggles.

'I don't need- what? You haven't drugged me? I just spent the past five minutes-'

'Seven.'

'What?'

'Seven minutes. You spent seven minutes panicking.'

'Thanks, Granger. That's a lot of help. As I was saying, I spent _seven _minutes trying not to fall asleep, for your amusement?'

'Yeah, that sounds about right. You have to admit, it was pretty funny!'

Then, to Hermione's surprise, Malfoy began to laugh too. A small smile would have been odd enough, but these were very loud guffaws. The Malfoy Hermione used to know would've never let himself be so undignified. Maybe he had changed?

'That was actually pretty good, Granger. I have to hand it to you, that wasn't bad,' chuckled Malfoy. He stopped laughing, but the smile remained. He actually looked more human when he smiled, freer and more open. Hermione found that she preferred Malfoy like this- she caught herself wondering his stay might be bearable if he stayed amused.

DPO V

He was laughing for the first time in what felt like years. It probably had been years- there hadn't been much to laugh about since the war started. Somehow, through a combination of Granger's childish behaviour, sleep deprivation and his own idiocy, he had found something funny. Draco had forgotten how much he liked to laugh, the warm feeling it gave him reminded him of summer. It was nice.

He realised that he must have looked like he was losing his mind, but for the first time in forever he didn't care about his appearance. It wasn't like Granger could tell anyone, the flat was empty other than the pair of them and she seemed to be harbouring fugitives, unlikely she had many visitors. As far as he was aware, not being miserable wasn't against the Overlords' orders, even if they might be… displeased that the Gryffindor princess was making him laugh. So, he had no reason not to laugh. It was like being on a very awkward and strange impromptu holiday. In the middle of nowhere. With Granger.

Actually, if he interpreted the Overlords' instructions differently, being nice-ish to Granger might actually be required. They had said to keep out of trouble- which had failed at- and to not 'unnecessarily antagonise anyone' from the Order of the Phoenix. He was there for information about a security leak, and if he could... befriend Granger then he might be able to find out who was giving information to the other side- and get to laugh a bit more.

When asked years later, Malfoy would acknowledge that this was the first time over the course of the entire war when his next goal wasn't to kill someone.


	5. Chapter 5: Life isn't fair

Chapter 5- Life isn't fair

**A/N: I am so so sorry. I don't know what happened. Life is being annoying and getting in the way! *offers biscuits as a peace offering* We're here now, though! I can't promise it won't happen again, but I'll try and prevent it :) Also, sorry if this chapter seems a bit... disjointed. I wrote the first half months ago...  
**

**Disclaimer: I still do not own Draco or Hermione. Yet. Mwah ha ha- what do you mean I can't have them? Oh... Are you sure? Okay then...  
**

* * *

DPOV

By the time Draco had thought the idea through, the sun had begun to rise. There had been several things that he had promised himself that he would never do, very early on in his life- and laughing with a Gryffindor, especially one of Granger's parentage, was under number 2, subsection 3. For once, he was grateful that no-one had been around to help him make the list legally binding. He knew that he'd definitely be dead at that moment if he had made the Vow.

Draco sat down on the bed, next to the pile of clean clothes Granger had given him, and stared out the window. The street lamps shone dimly through the window, tingling everything orange. No matter how long ago he had made that list- even if his views were changing- he couldn't let down his guard. Granger was probably going to try to psychoanalyse him, and if he was being 'friendly' then he would be 'vulnerable'. Draco shuddered slightly. No, he had things to do and this was just another unfortunate inconvenience. There was no way that he could fit Granger into his already busy schedule.

Really, he should've left by now. He was here and late for a meeting- the Overlords were probably clamouring for his head on a plate. They were fully aware of the risks they were taking by letting him 'help' them. Draco knew that they were waiting for one slip-up and then they could justify his murder. The worst part was that he could understand why they hated him so much. He couldn't even begin to feign ignorance. They- for the most part- despised him, for everything he had done, and for what he had planned to do. And in return, he loathed them, and spent his time knowing that if he had not taken their job offer; his life would've been a lot easier.

Draco didn't even try to tell himself that their protection was helping him. He was a low priority and importance- something he had quite recently become accustomed to, and their 'protection' was crap. Honestly, he would've been better off telling them to get lost and hiding in a forest with the unregistered muggleborns. At least then he wouldn't be sharing a flat with Granger.

He pulled on the too big trousers, before turning his attention to the hideous luminous green thing lying on the bed. At closer inspection, it turned out that the piece of cloth was in fact, a very small t-shirt. Draco half-heartedly waved his wand at it, hoping that it would miraculously transfigure into something wearable. The shirt flew up in the air, somersaulted and landed, crumpled, back in the same position as before. He stared at it, wondering hopefully if the green was slightly duller- and did it see slightly bigger? Draco held it up a final time before throwing it at the wall on the other side of the box of a room. Fucking muggle clothes.

He ran a hand through his still damp hair and wandered over to the bookshelf. Muggle stuff, with a copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard thrown in for good measure. Sighing, he pulled the book of fairy tales off the shelf, watching as the other books toppled one by one onto the floor. Draco threw himself onto the bed, and lay there, aimlessly flicking through the stories and wondering if it would've been easier just to die.

* * *

HPOV

Hermione curled up in her armchair and watched the fire die out as the darkness of night turned into the dawn of a new day. She liked dawn, and had often woken up early in the summer holidays, just to watch the sun rise. It relaxed her, and reminded her of something Ron had said, in an unexpected moment of enlightenment. Out of darkness always comes light, he had told her, sagely nodding. He had looked quite offended when she had asked him if he had come up with it himself- he insisted he had, of course. Hermione was inclined to believe him. Besides, it hardly mattered anyway.

She glanced at the clock on the wall. Malfoy had disappeared hours ago- and even though she had asked nicely- he was yet to reappear. She supposed that there was a fairly decent chance that he had passed out in the shower or something equally inconvenient. And of course that would be her fault. Which ultimately meant that she was going to have to check on him- even if it was just to make sure that she wouldn't be held accountable for his untimely death via shower.

Hermione wearily pulled herself to her feet and tiptoed down the hall until she reached Malfoy's door. It was late and there was a large part of her that was hoping he was asleep. She wished she was asleep right now. Summoning every piece of patience she could muster, she knocked loudly four times on the door and waited. There was no answer. Figuring that she had to at least make sure he was alright, even if he would probably taunt her about it later- she called out:

'Malfoy?'

There was the sound of the floor creaking and the door swung open, revealing a smirking Malfoy. Great, Hermione thought, I bet he thinks I was worried about him.

'What's up, Granger?'

* * *

DPOV

Draco leant against the door frame and waited for an answer. Unfortunately, Granger was just standing there, avoiding eye contact and showing no signs of life. Other than the fact that she had flushed bright red. Either she was angry, or embarrassed. He hadn't tried to provoke her, so that left option b. But he hadn't deliberately tried to freak her out yet, either!

Draco ran through a list of everything he had said or done in the last five seconds- just so he would know what to use as ammunition in the future. Words, inoffensive. No implications, no insults, nothing. Tone, relaxed- borderline friendly. Appearance, damp hair- slightly messy. Trousers, far too big, but passable. No shirt- his clothes were in the muggle washing-thingy, and there was no way he was going to wear that hideous things Granger had given him. Was that the problem? Was she offended by his refusal to wear the clothes she had provided. No, that wasn't it. She was pointedly avoiding looking at him now, apparently the floor was hugely interesting now. Surely the lack of shirt wasn't the problem? If Granger was running some sort of hostel- which was the only thing he could think to call whatever the hell this flat was- then wouldn't she be used to this sort of thing for fucks sake?

Nonetheless, Granger was shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot and was- for apparently the first time in her life- speechless. And for some bizarre reason Malfoy didn't like it. It was unnerving and downright unnatural. . Right, say something- anything- to break the silence.

'Like what you see, Granger?' Draco smirked, that should get her talking. Messing with Granger was providing an invaluable source of entertainment, already. Just because he wasn't going to be here for very long didn't meant that he couldn't enjoy freaking Granger out first. There weren't any rules against that.

* * *

HPOV

Of course, Malfoy had decided to make everything hideously awkward for her. Just because she had let people stay in her flat for over a year, didn't mean she was equipped to deal with a smirking- and shirtless- Draco bloody Malfoy.

It really shouldn't have been a big deal. But, as much as she hated to admit it, he was hot. It didn't make any difference that he was an arrogant, irritating ferret- he was still infuriatingly good looking. There should've been some sort of rule against that- it just wasn't fair. Hermione hated herself for noticing- she had a boyfriend, who she loved- for crying out loud! She really shouldn't have cared how attractive Malfoy was.

He was like a car crash- she didn't want to look, but couldn't stop herself. Hermione, pull yourself together, she thought, looking at the carpet or the walls or anywhere except for Malfoy. Why couldn't he just play fair? Right, be nice. Polite, and civil- like she had promised herself she would be earlier. Bracing herself, she opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Sugar.

'Like what you see, Granger?' And of course he was smirking- did he not have another facial expression? He did have a point though; she was staring again, like a gormless idiot. No, worse. Like one of those girls who used to follow him around at school. Merlin, she was a mess. Breathe, Hermione- deep breaths. Polite and calm, she mentally chanted, polite and calm.

'Yes, Malfoy,' She paused, enjoying the momentary look of panic that he let slip through his mask. Screw polite, calm is enough.' I also am considering buying 300 freshly caught Cornish pixies as a present for my grandmother- do you know where I could find some?' Hermione let a small giggle pass her lips- she wished she had a camera! Malfoy's expression was priceless- a cross between confusion, astonishment (presumably that she'd made a joke about his appearance) and what looked like amusement. Of course, she was probably misunderstanding him- as much as she hated to admit it, she wasn't particularly good at reading people. Unfortunately, Malfoy quickly recovered and the mask slipped back into place, not leaving her anytime to analyse him any further.

'What do you want, Granger?' he snapped.

'I just wanted to make sure you hadn't died- I don't want the paperwork.'

'I'm hurt- I thought you cared!' Malfoy dramatically clutched his chest, like an actor in a really bad romance. Despite herself, Hermione found the corners of her mouth twitching,

'I don't care about anyone enough to do the paperwork.'

'Not even the Weasel?' replied Malfoy, raising an eyebrow.

'Not even Ron.'

'I'll tell him that, next time I see him.'

'You do that, Malfoy.' She rolled her eyes.

'Oh, I will!'

Hermione stifled a yawn, and a quick tempus charm told her that it was 6AM. She looked up at the newest refugee, who was still leaning on the door frame.

'It's late. You'd better get some sleep if you ever want to get better.'

'Of course, Granger. I wouldn't want to be stuck here forever.' Malfoy smirked, giving her a mock salute.

'Goodnight, Malfoy.' Hermione replied, hoping that the dark hid the small smile that had involuntarily appeared. She turned away and made her way to her room, wondering how the conversation had become almost friendly, and whether she actually heard a small goodbye or not.

* * *

DPOV

'Goodnight, Granger.' He whispered, before retreating back inside. Granger was certainly less uptight now, than she used to be. He would worry about how much he enjoyed having someone who would respond with something other than fear to his comments later. For now, he was going to get some rest- even if it would only be for a couple of hours.

It seemed, however, that the tawny owl waiting for him on the desk had other ideas. It dropped the small piece of parchment it was carrying, bit Draco and flew away. The letter it carried bore the Overlords' seal. Of course they knew where he was, and wanted answers- he wasn't going to be given a day off, just because he had almost died.

_Ferret, _

_You have two weeks or we're coming to get you. Find out who the leak is-use whatever methods you have to. Do not harm the Bookworm. No funny business. You know the consequences. _

_R._

Draco threw the letter at the wall, and watched as it landed on top of the books littering the floor. How the fuck was he supposed to get the information they wanted in a week? It wasn't like Granger would have the answers. And she blatantly wasn't the leak- she didn't know any death eaters. She only had contacts with the herd of flaming chickens. There was no point in being a leak if you only had contact with one side. Of course, the Overlords wouldn't care that he had no access to anything here- they wanted to win the war and get on with it. And they would win the war; they had the resources and the motivation. Whether they were completely right or not was another matter entirely.

Frustrated, Malfoy lay down on the bed and drifted into a fitful sleep.


	6. Chapter 6: Why can't I leave?

**A/N: Sorry, yet again for so such a long gap between chapters. And for any mistakes in this chapter (feel free to point them out in a review). Anyway, I hope you enjoy it :)**

**Disclaimer: I still do not own anything that you recognise.  
**

* * *

Chapter 6- What do you mean I can't leave?

DPOV 

A siren screeched outside Draco's window, jolting him awake. He'd never been able to sleep very well, and the war had only made things worse. He'd only slept for three hours, and yet he wasn't tired. Draco supposed it was remnants of adrenaline or something. He knew he'd be exhausted later though, and he wasn't looking forward to that.

He rolled over onto his side and reached over to switch the beside lamp on, accidently knocking a box to the floor. Draco sighed, surveying the chaos he had created the night before- the books illuminated by a street lamp. No doubt Granger would be pissed off about that. Draco scooped the brown parcel into his arms and was about t place it back on the table, when he noticed a name printed in large black letters carefully on-top.

_To: Mr D. Malfoy._

Draco flipped the package over and yet another message, which had originally read:

_Open: When you are ready._

However, someone had tacked something else onto the end in blue ink, so it now said:

_Open: When you are ready. Which means now, Malfoy._

Granger, thought Draco, always giving her opinion when it isn't needed.

But, she wouldn't be her otherwise, piped a helpful voice, which sounded suspiciously like Blaise. Draco shook his head and his attention back to the parcel.

It was a rectangular box, covered in brown paper and string. Draco guessed that it was probably forms he would be forced to sign, declaring that he was evil freak and agreeing that he should be locked up. Or a hex. He didn't know how Granger's mind worked.

But that goes against her moral compass, the voice insisted. Draco ignored it again.

Pulling out his wand, he placed the box carefully on the floor and backed away until he was almost relying on the wall for support. And then the spell casting began.

It started with the simple charm and minor jinx detecting spells and worked its way up to the more complex- and violent- spells, designed to reveal the most deadly of hexes. The small room filled with bright coloured lights and foul smelling smoke, but still the package refused to show any signs of anything remotely dangerous.

Sighing loudly, Draco untied the string with a final flick of his wand and watched the paper fall neatly away, revealing a perfectly harmless book, several disks, parchment and quills. He moved forward to inspect the contents, pushing the book (_Turning over a new leaf by M.R. Spielgelman)_ to the side, and gingerly picking the disks up with two fingers. A note was spellotaped to the front:

_To use: Press top of silver box (the CD player), put disk (CD) in and press the sideways triangle button (play)._

It was as if Granger didn't think that he had taken Muggle Studies, thought Draco, grabbing the CDs off the floor. He wondered how she'd managed to get a muggle device to work around so much magic. There were a couple of random bands (presumably muggle) and one that looked suspiciously like one aimed at pre-teen girls. Tucking the cases in a drawer, Draco took one final look around the room (which looked as if a Hippogriff had run rampant around it) and swept down the hall, ignoring the cloud of smoke billowing out behind him.

HPOV

The sound of the rain woke Hermione up twenty minutes later. For a moment everything was still and quiet, except for the pitter patter of the rain hitting the window pane. Everything was peaceful and Hermione could almost convince herself that she was alone in her flat. And then there was a huge crash, shattering the illusion.

Hermione reluctantly pulled herself out of bed as the clattering continued, and made her way down the hallway, the sound of swearing mixed with the crashing growing louder as she approached the kitchen.

'Fucking owl, get the fuck away from me!' Malfoy yelled, swatting at the owl with his hands, sending the bird flying into the dishes Hermione had forgotten to tidy up last night.

'Malfoy! What are you doing?' groaned Hermione, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

He whirled around, having the decency to look a little sheepish. Then, the barn owl took another dive at his head and he ducked, sending the owl swooping into a vase of flowers, given to her by Molly Weasley, spilling the water and the tulips all over the table.

Malfoy stood up, brushed the non-existent dirt of his trousers and straightened his newly washed shirt, only to throw himself to the floor again when the owl tried to land on his head.

Hermione couldn't contain her laughter any longer and allowed a small giggle to escape from behind her hand. The owl spotted her and hooted once, landing neatly on the table, where the vase had been.

'Hi, Volan,' she smiled, collecting the letter from him. 'Thank you for protecting me from the intruder.' Volan hooted again, accepted a treat and some water from Hermione and flew back out the way he had came.

'That was your bloody owl?' growled Malfoy, pulling himself to his feet once more. 'Can't you keep that thing under control?'

'Volan is not a _thing_, and he's actually very well behaved.'

'Well, how do you explain that?' Malfoy said, gesturing to the shattered vase.

'He was just… excited?' offered Hermione, repairing the glass with a wave of her wand.

'Excited?'

'Uh huh.' She refused to make eye contact with him. She knew he would be smirking, and it was entirely too early to be faced with the Malfoy smirk. Instead, she returned the flowers to the vase and flicked the switch on the kettle. 'Tea, Malfoy?'

'Yes, Granger. No sugar.' Malfoy said, hurriedly tacking a 'please' onto the end.

Hermione inwardly groaned. She hoped that Malfoy didn't realise that tea was becoming her go to subject changer. It seemed painfully obvious to her, but maybe he wasn't paying enough attention to her to notice. She wished he would pay more attention. Hermione shook her head slightly, since when did she care whether Malfoy acknowledged her. Lack of sleep, she told herself, that's all it is, and not enough caffeine.

While the tea was brewing, Hermione grabbed the letter off the table and carefully broke the seal.

'_Mione, the_ letter read

_All is well. We're safe. Found another one last week._

_H x_

_P.S. Your boyfriend sends his love._

Hermione clutched the letter to her chest, dancing round the small kitchen. They were _safe _and Ron sent his _love. _Sure, they weren't home, but this was the next best thing. Grinning like a Cheshire cat, Hermione poured milk into the tea and carried a mug out to Malfoy.

'Why are you so cheerful?' Malfoy asked, sipping his tea.

'I got a note from Harry,' Hermione blurted, before clapping her hand over her mouth. She wasn't supposed to tell anyone that she knew where they were, but honestly, who was Malfoy going to tell.

'Are they really still alive? I would've thought they'd have lost their heads by now, or something, without you giving them step-by-step instructions.' That was almost a compliment, Hermione thought, curling up in her arm-chair, even if it was disguised as an insult.

'No- not yet anyway,' she smiled. 'There's still time. They set the tent on fire a while ago. I'm just as surprised as you are!'

Malfoy gave her a half smile, and shook his head in disbelief.

'You're not as boring and uptight as I thought you were, Granger. I never thought I'd see the day when you were making jokes about Scarhead and Weasel.'

'You're not so bad yourself- when you're acting like a human being rather than a ferret.' Hermione joked.

'I'm honoured you think so highly of me, Granger.' There was the slightly guilty half smile again, as if Malfoy thought he was doing something wrong by finding something she said amusing. They sat in a semi-comfortable silence for a couple of minutes, before Hermione worked up the courage to say something more.

'Malfoy, do you know why you're here?' she asked, forcing herself to make eye contact with him.

'Because one of Potter's followers decided I needed saving? Because you are apparently running some sort of hostel or something? Speaking of which, why the hell was there a self-help book on my beside table?' Malfoy guessed, looking faintly amused.

'That's right,' Hermione said, ready to launch herself into the familiar scripted speech, which she gave to everyone who turned up on her doorstep. 'You were given this opportunity to get your life on track…' Malfoy raised an eyebrow in disbelief and she stopped. Yes, the speech was cheesy, but it got the point across. 'Ummm… I personally believe that with a bit of help, you can achieve your full potential.' Malfoy's smirk had spread across his face and was in danger of resembling an actual smile. 'And that you will be able to become the best wizard that you can possibly become within a few short weeks. My name is Hermione Granger, and I will be your personal helper. You, of course, can call me Hermione. What is your name?' Malfoy was now actually choking, trying to control his laughter, making Hermione flush bright red. 'It's not that bad!'

'It actually was, _Hermione._ Please tell me you don't give that speech to every poor person who has to come here?'

'I do… And no-one's complained so far!' Hermione grimaced.

'I'm not no-one am I, Granger?'

Hermione ignored this, and tried desperately to remember where she had got to in her talk.

'Here, we have a first name only policy, in order to encourage equality among residents.'

'Really?' Malfoy asked in disbelief.

'Yes, Draco. Also, we-'

'Who's we?'

'Umm… Volan and I?'

'There is no we, is there, Grang-Hermione?'

'No, not as such.' Hermione admitted, passing him the information booklet. She opened her mouth to try and finish her speech, but M-_Draco _cut her off.

'Skip the pre-rehearsed crap, Hermione. There really is no need for introductions with you and I is there?'

'No, I suppose there isn't… Anyway, you can stay here for as long as you need to. Until you can find somewhere else to stay, or a job, or somewhere where you aren't going to get involved with the wrong sorts of people.'

'The wrong sorts of people?' Draco repeated.

'Yes, the wrong sorts of people. You are required to fill out a couple of forms which are confidential, and things like that. Basically, you are here until _you _decide you can leave.'

'What if I want to leave now?''

'You can't. One of the clauses say you have to stay for at least 2 weeks. In order to realise your full potential.'

'This is basically a mandatory training camp for wanna-be Order members and ex-Death Eaters, isn't it?'

'Something like that.'

'And I'm not allowed to leave.'

'No, sorry.' Hermione apologised.

DPOV

Well, this is just great, Draco thought. Not only am I stuck with _Hermione, _I'm being lectured on becoming a better person and I can't _leave. _At least Granger- Hermione doesn't seem too thrilled about me being here. Although, it'd be downright odd if she was. He'd probably demand she answer security questions or something, because if she was happy to see him, it would definitely not be G-Hermione talking.

At least being here would be good for his mission, Draco sighed, reaching for the forms. He needed to be close to a prominent Order member and who better than Hermione Granger?


End file.
